Protecting the Dwarf
by lightblue-Nymphadora
Summary: Santana finds out that slushies are the least of Rachel's problems. PezBerry friendship/preslash.


**LbN: Happy Reading!  
**

Something about writing and competing with your own songs kind of brings a group together. Not to say Santana was going soft—hell no. It was just that you can't help but respect the writer of your group's winning song just a little. It must've been temporary insanity from those feelings that made Santana join Rachel's group for this week's assignment, but if she was honest with herself, the dwarf hadn't been as annoying as usual.

"Come on guys! I've got all of our costumes here. We should go ahead and get changed, and maybe do some warm-ups—"

"Rachel, we've got, like, 2 hours to perform. Chillax," Santana said.

"I want to put my costume on now," Brittany said. "All of the sequins make me feel like a big diamond."

Santana smiled at her and shook her head. "Alright. Let's get it on."

Rachel grinned, let out a giggle and led the way to the bathroom.

* * *

"San, what's a Wocket?" Brittany asked as they applied their makeup.

"Huh?" Normally she was prepared for Brittany's questions, but every once in a while, she couldn't help thinking "what-the-fuck?"

"Today in English our assignment was to rewrite part of a Dr. Seuss book. Why did the kid have a Wocket in his pocket? Is Wocket another word for penis? Was Dr. Seuss a penis doctor?"

Santana heard Rachel's muffled chuckle (she was changing in the stalls for some reason) and couldn't help smiling. "It's pretend, Brittany. Like Barney."

"Please don't say that name, I'm still traumatized."

"You guys look great!" Rachel said.

"Are you surprised? Whoa, Berry, your zipper's not up all the way. It's not that kind of performance." Santana reached up to fix her zipper, but Rachel pulled away.

"Thanks, I can get it."

"Calm down, I'm not going to—what the hell?" Santana spun the younger girl back around. "What happened? I could play Connect the Dots on your back!"

"It's nothing," Rachel mumbled. "I just… I get pushed a lot. I tend to hit things in mid-stumble."

"Wait, wait, wait," Santana said. "You're telling me that people push you into stuff so much that your back looks like Blueberry-Cheesecake ice cream?"

"One way to put it, I suppose."

"Who is doing this?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Like hell it doesn't," Santana growled. "In the words of the famous philosopher, Kurt Hummel, you're one of us. We're the only ones who get to even slightly torture you. And we sure as hell wouldn't be okay with this. Who? Did? This?"

"Various Neanderthals on the football team—"

"Karofsky?"

"No. I don't even know their names. The one who looks like Troy Polomalu, and the one who looks like a troll."

"Noted."

"And…" Rachel broke off, looking up nervously and then back down at her shoes."

"And…?"

"No one. Just let it go."

"Like hell! Was it one of the Cheerios?"

Rachel nodded slowly. "Look, I know you're fired up right now, and I know they're your friends—"

"You're our friend too, Rachel," Brittany said.

Rachel gave them a small smile. "I'm going to go warm up."

Santana watched her go, then turned to Brittany. "Want to help me with something, Britt-Britt?"

* * *

The RaBritTana rendition of Anthem of the Angels had been a resounding success. Not even an orange-coconut slushie to the face could dampen Rachel's spirits that morning. "Oh, I shouldn't have thought that," she said, pressing herself as close to the locker as possible as her normal tormentors approached. She closed her eyes—they had their hands behind their backs, which couldn't be good.

"Rachel?" a voice said.

She opened one eye, and the other. The two football players were standing with roses, and black eyes. The two cheerleaders had stacks of books—music books—in their arms. "What…what is it?"

"We're… sorry. Sorry for hurting you. We didn't mean to. Here."

Rachel took the books and flowers, completely flabbergasted. As they walked away, she ran down the hall to find Santana.

* * *

Why the hell had she chosen Advanced Physics? What in the name of Madonna's favorite conical bra had she been thinking? Santana huffed and slumped in her seat. A movement to her left caught her attention.

Rachel was in the hallway. As always, the diva's thoughts were written on her face. Clearly she was thinking, "Who did you have to kill to pull this one off?"

Santana simply blew her a kiss, and went back to her test.

**_LbN: Hope you liked it! Constructive criticism is much appreciated. This is only my second Glee!fic, so I'm interested to know if I'm doing okay :)._**


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